The Art of Forgetting
by AnimeZombieHunter
Summary: Won't let me forget the pain, the noise, the metallic smell, what is that smell, it's blood. My blood. He's spilling my blood. It was only a matter of time... Our minds block out memories that can be damaging or too much to handle, but eventually the past catches up with us.


**A/N:** This was basically an assignment for English that I did in Grade 11 but I've edited it to fit the Hetalia Nations.

The Nations are Immortal in this, or at least up until the point of decapitation, dismemberment and burning, but that's getting a little to detailed.

I know Toris isn't considered artistic but I just feel he would be willing to settle with anything because he's a realist and he has nothing to begin with. And maybe, it has something to do with me feeling like the artistic types (North Italy and ...others) wouldn't fit the role.

Lithuania/Toris POV

* * *

**The Art of Forgetting**

Торис,

Мне очень жаль. Как только я вернусь домой, мы можем быть семьей снова, да? Я никогда не сделаю тебе больно–

The letter crumpled as the memory flooded my mind. _Crashes echoed, flinch inducing noise. Terror injecting ice down to my bones, an unbreakable hold…_

I grabbed the paint brush, my solace. The only thing I hadn't had taken away from me yet, not like my books, my maps, my telescope.

Forget. Forget the memories I'd lived over and over. Forget the letter I had memorised. Stay; stay here, in the present. Where my past fades into white noise and the art technicolours the now.

I took a breath and held it. Paint brush dipping in the palette, a form appears. I didn't really like art that much to be honest. It was a distraction. Though sometimes, I wondered if it was a good one, if it had… people looking.

Торис_…_

Just breathe. Breathe. Breathing. _One breathe comes out in pants, the other gasps. Control your breathing. Don't. Don't let him hear._ I inhaled sharply. Forget the horrors. My home. My home of horrors.

Нет, Торис. Я просто хочу играть.

Relax. Take calming breathes. Feel the wooden brush, smell the paint. I _can_ forget. I'd forgotten before. Focus on emptying my mind. I succumbed to the art. The brush and my hand, one entity. Art: The missing piece of me. I breathed myself onto the canvas, filling it with me and emptying this body.

Почему ты скрываешь, Торис?

No. I shook my head sharply. Only art is real. The art. Not the chill from outside that's seeped into the building though the centuries. Not the refractions from sunlight on snow. Not the smell of bleach from where Raivis had spilt paint. Bleach used to clean. Clean paint. Clean blood.

_Pain rippling through my body, hide the evidence. Keep the house clean. No proof it happened. No…_ I shook violently. He's not here. Not in my haven. The letter though…

That is.

His words are part of him.

Нашел вас.

He's invaded my peace of mind. My mind. He is in _my_ mind. The letter brought him back, won't let me forget. Won't let me forget the pain, the noise, _the metallic smell, what is that smell, it's blood. My blood. He's spilling my blood._ It's not real. My palm wacked against my forehead. A memory. Just forget.

Торис?

No… Get out of my head.

Get out of my head!

Get out!

OF MY HEAD!

I grabbed my head and squeezed. The feeling fade and pain hits, a dull ache surrounding my head like a warm blanket. Muffling the world.

Almost.

Because this time art isn't letting me forget.

My brain catches on the thought. My irony: always trying to forget only to find more unwanted memories. My eyes pointlessly roam as my brain whirls into overdrive. Art can't fail me, not when the letter is–

I catch sight of a piece of my work. A paint bottle carved with a box cutter, spilling colour over the sides. Opening the colour. Art of raw paint.

I've felt raw for a very long time.

I stare at my neglected canvas, the lack of colour. It is a figure etched in black with shadows chasing, surrounding, waiting for him, while he stagers through the unending white. It's missing something though… Something that'll make it look… real. It could use some…

Red.

I grab onto the idea like a lifeline. I seize the box cutter off the desk. I love this. I love letting the colour finally have the freedom to leave the prison that held it. I grasp onto the red container; waiting to be opened. The blade: glinting with my intent. I place the blade delicately. And push. I carve into the container and dark red spills. I carve, modelling my life. My life broken, broken by agreements meant to help. I only ever tried to help. But everything gets broken. Cutting everything, nothing untouched. Just like the red container.

With a flick dark red splatters the canvas, dark on the light. Drop the knife. Grab the brush. Memories and feelings finally expressed through art. My hand takes over. I'm running out of space. Time has passed without me noticing again. Like it's supposed to.

I sign contently. I hold the container above me, dripping down my front. Staining my clothes. Staining red tracks down my legs.

Something buzzes in my mind. Something's there. Something unsettling.

Something… forgotten.

I desperately try to backpedal. Don't look. Don't lo–

But it's too late.

Images slam into my eyes. Я скучал по тебе, Литва. Images: of a house, pictures on the wall blurred because–

_I'm running. Running away from Him. Run faster, he's coming. Where are they? Run. But everything hurts. Something catches my shirt and I'm spun. _

_I see Him. _

_He grins at me, the smile, so twisted and so innocent, widens. He has a painful grip on my shoulder now but I'm too exhausted to struggle. Sharp pain. He's got a knife in my side, prodding. _

"У меня есть кое-что, чтобы показать вам, Торис_," Says the twisted smile._

_I don't want to see. I don't want to know. Where are they? Why aren't they here? _

_I'm yanked down the hallway to a door, it makes my breath catch. No… He shoves the door open. No… Pain splits through my skull as he grabs my hair and drags me inside. No… I fall as he lets go and I see… I see… No… _

Words that I should have heeded to, fly through my mind.

Es esmu tik bail, Toris. Tie būs saprast, ja mēs atstājam...

See ei ole enam ohutu siin. Meie riigid mõistavad.

Постарайтесь понять, Торис. Вы заслуживаете этого. Вы пытались оставить меня.

Lūdzu! Iesim–

Me ei saa lasta sel juhtuda uuesti!

Вы никогда не можете уйти.

_ My brothers! _

_The scream that rips from my throat is broken._

I'm screaming now like I was then. Knife in hand again, _when did I pick it up,_ I attack the dark red filled container. Colour splatters all around me and drips to the floor. Everything is red from my frenzied attacks.

The room is spinning around me. Nausea smashes hard into me. Exhaustion hits and I'm on the floor. Red spreads around me like the silhouette of a monster that is nothing more than an unidentifiable shape as it loams over you. Though most people know their monsters.

My masterpiece, I laugh humorously, is on the floor next to me. I must have knocked it. The canvas is covered in red. The figure now runs and hides from red and black shadows while red drips from him and leaves a trail for them to follow. A smile graces my face that has been blank for so long. What will people think of my masterpiece? What will He think?

My eyes are un-focusing; all I see is a red haze. _When did I lie down? _I don't know if it is the mess I made or if there is something wrong with my eyes. But it's red like my memories.

The dark red puddle around me looks exactly like blood.

I sigh. The puddle is huge and I feel like I'm floating.

I had no idea that my arm had so much red in it.

I look back to the fuzzy masterpiece.

The art that is finally letting me forget.

* * *

The black that surrounded me is fading.

I can hear the blood pounding in my head. Unconsciously, I try to move and it isn't until after, that I realise how heavy my body feels. What happened?

Did He come home early?

My memory slams back into place.

I did it again. Eduard is going to be annoyed. I don't try to stop the sigh escaping my lips. From the feel on the hard surface beneath me though, no one's found me yet.

I open my eyes just slightly to see a mass of red.

I guess I slit my wrists this time.

The heaviness has faded from my limbs. Slowly, I attempt to push myself up with my eyes still closed. Light headed, I crack my eyes open. Other than the fact that the room is spinning in time with my head like the traditional dance of my country that I can't name at the moment, everything looks great.

Staying still seems to stop the spinning. I push myself from the position of resting on my elbows until I'm sitting completely up. And the room spins again.

I slam my eyes shut once again.

I'm not surprised that I killed myself again. Even though all the Nations always come back, it is still an escape. Wishful thinking maybe, that it'll be permanent eventually.

Experimentally, I open my eyes. Everything is still. Exactly like you'd expect at the scene of a death. Blood splatter covers pretty much every surface around the canvas stand.

Suddenly reminded of my art, I look down at the piece.

Horribly morbid and terrifying. A dead man runs from the darkness that he cannot escape, it always finds him.

Shifting, I notice the 'puddle' I'm sitting is completely dry. Though that's not surprising. It's hard to calculate how long replenishment of complete blood loss is, but the last time I'd died from blood loss, it had taken around five months before I'd woken up.

Five blessed months without Him.

Thanking whatever deity existed that I'd chosen a random office to paint in, I considered my situation.

I knew it wasn't fair to my people, to my country to just disappear like this but I couldn't help myself. I dearly hoped that Eduard and Raivis were in good health, which they should be since He wasn't due back for another two months if my calculations we correct.

Eduard is going to be angry again and Raivis… Raivis is going to look at me with those eyes of his, eyes that hold so much sadness and make me feel so much guilt.

I wished things were different; I didn't want this to be my existence.

I want to tell them, honestly. But how do I tell them that it is only a matter of time before I regress again. Before I become paranoid and fearful. Before I start searching for an escape again.

It was only a matter of time, ever since we moved here to Russia. Ever since His insanity started to take us out one by one. Killing us off whenever He pleased and then again as soon as we came back.

It had only been a matter of time before we started to follow him into insanity.

* * *

**Translations in order of appearance:**

(please tell me if you notice any mistakes)

Торис = Toris (Russian)

Мне очень жаль. Как только я вернусь домой, мы можем быть семьей снова, да? Я никогда не сделаю тебе больно = I'm sorry. As soon as I get home, we can be a family again, huh? I will never hurt you (Russian)

Нет, Торис. Я просто хочу играть. = No, Toris. I just want to play. (Russian)

Почему ты скрываешь, Торис? = Why are you hiding, Toris? (Russian)

Нашел вас. = Found you. (Russian)

Я скучал по тебе, Литва. = I missed you, Lithuania. (Russian)

У меня есть кое-что, чтобы показать вам, Торис = I've got something to show you, Toris. (Russian)

Es esmu tik bail, Toris. Tie būs saprast, ja mēs atstājam = I'm so scared, Toris. They will understand if we leave. (Latvian)

See ei ole enam ohutu siin. Meie riigid mõistavad. = It's not safe here anymore. Our countries understand. (Estonian)

Постарайтесь понять, Торис. Вы заслуживаете этого. Вы пытались оставить меня. = Try to understand, Toris. You deserve it. You tried to leave me. (Russian)

Lūdzu! Iesim. = Pease?! Let's go. (Latvian)

Me ei saa lasta sel juhtuda uuesti! = We cannot let this happen again! (Estonian)

Вы никогда не можете уйти. = You can never leave. (Russian)


End file.
